It's just a dream, it was all just a dream
by blue peanut m and m
Summary: A short one shot. Did Sam really go to hell, or was everything just a dream?


**It's just a dream, it was all just a dream.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . . A short one shot. Did Sam really go to hell, or was everything just a dream?**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Sam, Dean, Bobby, and Cas all belong to Kripke.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . Another one shot to try and get me back in the swing of things. This one is a weird one I think, but I hope that you enjoy any way. Peanut x**

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><p>Days merged into one another, a constant circle created; awaken, get dressed, come here, sit until he was forced to leave, force a meal down himself, drink himself oblivious, sleep where he dropped. They'd tried to get him to change, tried to remove him from this funk, but that Winchester stubbornness ran like a solid iron rod throughout his body, and no matter how hard they tried, it refused to budge an inch, and wouldn't do so until he returned, wouldn't do so until Sam came back.<p>

He'd fought them when they first suggested the move; fought them when they insisted there was no more they could do for Sam with their limited supplies, that he needed specialized help that they were not equipped for, that this new place could give him that help for as long as was needed. He'd turned angry, shouting that they no longer cared, that after everything Sam had been through, after everything he had given, they were going to turn their backs on him now. They had of course denied it, insisted that his judgment was clouded, that his anger was uncalled for, that they only wanted what was best for Sam, but he felt betrayed and that betrayal ignited a rage that burned red and refused to be put out; even now all these months later, whenever they spoke to him, he refused to acknowledge them; instead he sat, he waited, he watched.

He watched as even in sleep, Sam tossed and turned, clawed at sheets, and sometimes even thrashed upon the bed before him; his eyes constantly moving beneath closed lids; dreams, or were they nightmares, battling within him. He wanted to help, wanted to comfort, wanted to pull his brother up from the sweat soaked sheets and wrap him securely within his grasp; but every time he tried, it seemed to bring no comfort at all, his body struggling to remove itself, the panic within the sleeping frame increasing, and only subsiding when he finally could stand it no longer, and with a weary sigh, and tears brimming, he placed his frame back down.

With little else to do he could not help but wonder just what these nightmares contained. Occasionally he'd hear his name shouted once or twice, hear their friends names shouted too, but what scared him most, what sent shivers throughout his frame, was that for the most part, Sam stayed silent; the pain showed clearly upon his face, his frame arched agonizingly from the bed, his muscle strung tight as a bow, his mouth open as though he was screaming, but no sounds were forthcoming.

When it happens, he's not prepared for it, day after day, week after week, month after month, he has sat there, watching, waiting, hoping, praying, but losing that hope as time goes by, so when it happens it catches him completely by surprise. It just stops. Sam just stops. The thrashing, the straining, the tossing, the turning, it all just stops. When he finally notices and turns his brother's way, he's stunned into silence by his open eyes; eyes that are filled with fear and doubt, pain and grief. He reaches once more to offer comfort, to tell him he's alright, that he's okay; but once more he's stilled as he struggles to get away, only the restraints preventing it from happening, so all he can do is back away, all he can do is keep repeating his words of comfort, all he can do is give him the space and time he needs.

It takes longer than he would like. Takes longer for him to trust him, but he's determined not to give up, determined not to give in, and eventually that determination pays off; Sam allows him in. He remembers everything from when he was sleeping. He remembers meeting for the first time after hell and pairing up with other members of their family, the hunts they went on when they eventually got back together, the quest to save Cas, the walls crashing down, the failure of their quest, losing Cas, Leviathans, losing Bobby. It confuses Sam, upsets him, and angers him, when he tells him that these things never happened, that these are events he has no recollection of. Sam screams that he is lying, that he is tricking him, those screams only increasing when in desperation he brings Cas in, he brings Bobby in. "He doesn't know what's real anymore," he states, doesn't know what to believe anymore, and Dean's at a loss of how to help.

It takes even more time to convince Sam, day by day, week by week, month by month, they spend telling him over and over that this is real, that everything that he believes happened after Detroit didn't, that at the last minute they found a way to stop Lucifer, but that Sam was caught in the crossfire and hurt bad. They show him newspaper reports, news broadcasts, even footage from the hospital he stayed at, and slowly but surely he begins to believe, begins to push the dreams aside, begins to become their Sam once more.

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><p><strong>A.N. . . . . . . . . Thanks for taking time out to read this, catch you soon with new chapters to older fics. Peanut x<strong>


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